Page 69 of The Puck Contract

I shift in my chair, suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "It's nothing. Just... what if... what if things have changed between us?"

"Changed how?" Her expression sharpens. "The deal depends on stability, Ansel. We need—"

"I know that," I assure her. "I'm not saying we're breaking up or anything. Just... it's complicated."

"Complicated how?" she presses.

How do I explain that the fake relationship doesn't feel fake anymore? That whatever is happening between Mateo and me has crossed some invisible line from professional arrangement to something real and raw and terrifying?

"Never mind," I say finally. "Everything's fine. We're fine."

She studies me for a long moment, clearly not believing me but apparently deciding not to push. "Alright. Just remember, we're in the home stretch now. Stay focused, keep up the appearances, and everyone gets what they want."

Everyone except me, I think but don't say. Because what I really want—what I'm increasingly afraid I want—isn't part of this deal.

"Will do," I promise hollowly. "Anything else?"

"Just the usual social media schedule," she says, sending a calendar invite to my phone. "Tag Mateo in at least three posts this week. Make sure one shows the two of you at Friday's team event."

"Got it," I say, standing to leave.

"And Ansel?" she calls as I reach the door. "Whatever's going on... be careful. For both your sakes."

The warning follows me all the way to the locker room, where I find Becker, Wall, and Petrov hanging out before optional skate.

"There he is!" Becker announces when I walk in. "The man of the hour. How was your night after our little truth or dare game?"

"None of your fucking business," I reply pleasantly, dropping my bag on the bench.

"Oooh, tetchy," Becker grins. "Must have been good then."

I flip him off as I start changing into workout gear, but apparently my face gives something away because Wall whistles low.

"Shit, it was good," he says, eyes widening. "You finally sealed the deal with Professor Boyfriend, didn't you?"

"He's not a professor," I correct automatically. "He's a student. And I'm not discussing this with you animals."

"He's not denying it!" Petrov exclaims, high-fiving Becker. "Pay up, Wall. I told you they wouldn't make it two months without fucking."

"You had a bet?" I demand, outraged but not surprised. "What is wrong with you degenerates?"

"Ohhh, so many things," Becker says cheerfully. "But right now, our main concern is making sure you don't fuck this up. You've got that look."

"What look?" I narrow my eyes.

"The 'I just had mindblowing sex and now I'm freaking out about feelings' look," Wall explains. "Classic rookie mistake."

"I don't have feelings," I lie blatantly. "And I'm definitely not freaking out about them."

"Sure, buddy," Becker pats my shoulder condescendingly. "That's why you're strangling your socks right now."

I look down to find I'm indeed twisting my athletic socks into a mangled rope. I drop them like they're on fire.

"This calls for intervention," Becker announces, pulling out his phone. "Emergency relationship support protocol initiated."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I ask, but he's already typing furiously.

My phone pings with a notification. Then another. And another.

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